I begged you for the little slice
Of lemon from your dinner tea.
With cunning grin, you cocked your head
And slyly gave it o'er to me.
My eyes were wide, my tongue grew slick --
Guess Pavlov's pup had got it right --
I held the rind with naive hand
And closed my eyes and took a bite.
My mouth, assaulted by the sting,
Revolted, opened wide and howled,
And spat the pulp onto my plate.
Its acid tears dripped down my jowl.
When I looked up and searched your eyes
For comfort, they were crying, too --
But out of laughter at my pain.
T'was my first taste of hate for you.